


Welcome Wagon

by lea_hazel



Series: Decline and Fall [1]
Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Canonical Character Death, Clarmont being less nice than I usually write him, Dancing, Disappointment, F/M, Friendship Angst, Gen, Intrigue, Isolation, Politics, Problematic Friendship, Revaire, dammit ao3 stop auto-completing super weird tags, dresses that go swish swish when you walk, is unrequited friendship a thing?, lowkey costume porn, unrequited romantic tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15337209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: The week between Verity's landing in Revaire and arriving in the capital city was particularly hectic.Also featuring Roxana and Stefanie in the role of Gisette's lackeys, and several other original Revairian characters.The angst shows up mainly in the third chapter.





	1. Port Indigo

**Author's Note:**

> While this story takes place before "A Charming Introduction", it was written after it, so there maybe some minor inconsistencies.

The first part of Revaire that Verity was introduced to was the city of Port Indigo, where their ship docked. After only a week at sea, Verity was far too ecstatic to see any form of dry land to be picky about where she disembarked. Still wobbly-legged from the journey, she watched as her trunks were unloaded and packed onto a large cart. The wind whipped at her hair, even underneath its carefully-secured scarf.

She started at a light touch on her arm, but it was only Lady Roxana.

"Your carriage is here, Princess," said Roxana.

Verity turned and saw that she was right. Far to one side of the carts preparing to haul the delegates' luggage was a well-polished carriage with a pair of footmen idling by it, all of them sporting the red and silver of Revaire's flag. Princess Gisette was already making her way towards it, snapping her fingers at the idle boys, who immediately snapped to attention. Of course it was beneath the Princess's dignity to do something as vulgar as shout across the docks, but impatience was drawn in every line of her straight-backed stance.

"You'd best not keep her waiting, Princess Verity," said Roxana. "I know from rich experience how unpleasant she can be when made to wait."

"Of course," said Verity. "Thank you, Lady Roxana. You're a true friend."

Roxana smiled her bright, artificial smile. "Is it not my duty as a delegate to make our new Crown Princess feel welcome in Revaire, even from the very first day? Run along now, Princess. You are expected at the royal residence."

She did, with as much alacrity as could be afforded by her restrictive layers of skirts.

"If you are wondering when you might conclude your earlier conversation with Roxana," said Princess Gisette, once they had both been secured into the carriage, "you can expect her attendance at the welcome supper tonight, and then later this week at the party."

"Party?" asked Verity, momentarily distracted from the task of objecting to the idea that she had anything like a friendship with a poisonous little snake like Roxana.

Gisette flashed her best sugar-and-ice smile. "Why, your engagement party, of course, dear sister."

"Ah," said Verity. "Of course."

"We shall have to find you something appropriate to wear," said Gisette thoughtfully. "I do wish I had my own seamstress here, but I suppose the local talent will have to suffice."

"I suppose," said Verity, "that the future Crown Princess of Revaire cannot be seen at a ball wearing an Arland-style evening gown."

"Of course not," said Gisette.

This part, at least, she had been well-prepared for. Verity had been hearing for as long as she could remember, from her mother, her nurses and her ladies-in-waiting all, that a proper Arland bride must be ready to fully embrace her husband's ways and customs. For Constance, that had meant adopting Corval's fashions and religious customs, and integrating herself so fully into the Empress of Corval's court that she hardly even wrote letters to Arland anymore. In Verity's case, she had her doubts about how well the exchange would work. She didn't think the style of narrow skirts and close-fitted jackets that Gisette favored would suit her rounder, softer figure.

"Jarrod is riding to the residence, if you're wondering," said Gisette, cutting into her meandering thoughts.

She had not, in fact, spared any thought to where her intended was at the moment. "I suppose he prefers the exercise and fresh air," she said, "or perhaps it's simply beneath his dignity to ride in a carriage with two fine ladies such as us."

Gisette laughed pleasantly. "Oh, you're so amusing, Princess Verity," she said, and her eyes glinted. "I cannot wait to introduce you to Mama and Papa."

"Will the introduction not happen before the betrothal ball?" she asked, as though out of idle politeness.

"The King and Queen," answered Gisette patiently, "cannot be spared from the capital for even a week."

"So we'll be traveling to the capital in a week," Verity guessed.

"Slightly less," said Gisette. "By carriage, it's a two-day journey. Jarrod will reach the palace before us, if he insists on riding then, as he has now. I imagine he will."

The palace. The King and Queen. Verity had a great deal to worry about in her immediate future. Perhaps she was better off restricting her concern to her ballgown for the betrothal party. It seemed a safer subject of conversation to pursue. It occurred to her that she knew almost nothing of substance about Revaire's capital city, other than its name. As the carriage's windows were tightly shut and heavily curtained, she hadn't even glimpsed much of Port Indigo, beyond her first look as she was getting her land legs back.

She sighed deeply and said, "I wonder what I shall wear."

The Princess patted her hand in a manner almost comforting. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll have you properly outfitted in time. I've managed greater sartorial miracles than this."


	2. The Welcome Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verity and Gisette discuss Revaire fashions.

They had only a few hours to rest and recuperate from the journey before Verity had to start preparing for the welcome supper. All of Revaire's delegates, returning and newly-arrived alike, were invited, along with Revaire's ambassador, the Marchioness Valentine. The welcoming party consisted of a small number of highly ranking nobles and officials, who were seemingly the architects behind selecting and training the Revairian delegation. These latter were in poor humor to find that only five of the delegates they sent had returned. Lady Lenore, one of Gisette's entourage, had made a last-minute match with an unbearably odious young man from Wellin. And Lord Adalric, of course, was dead.

Other than the royal siblings, only Roxana and Stefanie, Gisette's acolytes, and Lord Clarmont had returned to their home shores. And Verity herself, of course, was there to supplement their numbers. She had gotten the distinct impression, both during the negotiations and on the voyage, that the powers that be in Revaire had both anticipated and desired the opposite outcome. They wanted an influx of fresh blood into the ranks of their nobility, so far as Verity could tell, not to lose their young people to foreign shores. The welcome supper was sure to be tense, if those same powers were apt to express their disappointment. And Verity had really no idea what they would make of her.

At least she knew that she could count on one friendly face being there.

The royal residence in Port Indigo was apparently outfitted with more bedrooms than the present royal family could possibly make use of. One of these was reserved for Verity's use. The moment she entered the room, and even through her haze of fatigue, she could tell that it had been prepared in advance of her arrival. Lady Valentine had written ahead to inform of the Prince's late betrothal, she could only assume. Revaire's royal crest was emblazoned everywhere in the room, but the stack of linens resting on the vanity table were each of them marked with a white Arland swan.

Had her unassuming to look at new maid sat and embroidered them all by hand? She couldn't have had much more than a week's notice. Perhaps there were similar stacks of linens hidden in a cupboard somewhere in the lower levels, bearing the insignia of Corval, Jiyel and Wellin. Or perhaps someone had correctly deduced that she herself was the highest-ranking foreign female delegate this year, on par only with Penelope, and hedged their bets. Verity did not like to think this. She'd spent the past two months convincing herself that she could be the author of her own fate, and the idea that her movements could be so readily predicted was unflattering, to say the least.

"Your Highness," said the maid, bobbing a very low curtsy.

Verity turned her full attention on her, and the girl flinched, almost imperceptibly.

She made her voice as soft and unthreatening as she could when she said, "What is it?"

"If you would like to dress for supper, Your Highness?" asked the maid, her eyes fixed on the toes of her shoes.

"Yes," said Verity decidedly. "Did you set aside the gown I asked for earlier?"

She hesitated, but finally said, "I did, Your Highness."

Verity sighed. "Did Princess Gisette appear while I was resting and veto my selection?"

"She did, Your Highness."

"Very well," said Verity with another, deeper sigh. "Show me what she chose instead."

"Her Highness said that the saffron gown was too harsh a color for a summer evening," said the maid, "Your Highness."

She wanted a pastel, no doubt, whether to suit the fashion of the season or to match her own attire, Verity neither knew nor cared to guess.

"Let me guess," said Verity. "The jade green satin gown. Or perhaps the apple blossom dress." The latter was strictly a day dress, but the welcome supper could conceivably be a less formal event.

The maid shook her head and mutely gestured at the chair where she had laid the outfit out.

Verity sighed a third and, she firmly resolved, final time. "The fawn linen," she said. "It will not stand out, but I suppose that must be what she wanted. Well, it's getting rather late, and I'm in no humor to pick a fight with my sister-to-be, let alone over fashion. Let her have this one victory."

"Yes, Your Highness," said the maid.

She was silent for the duration of the dressing ritual, which was a great relief to Verity. She had far too many other things on her mind. Gisette's stylistic power-play was low on her agenda, despite the fact that it bore every mark of being quite important to the Princess herself. For herself, Verity was more concerned about her upcoming meeting with the monarchs, neither of whom had particularly warm or welcoming a reputation. If Queen Violetta proved even half as intractable as her daughter, Verity knew she'd be in for quite a time, trying to win her over. Summit-approved betrothal or no, the monarchs could choose to dissolve her little alliance at any time, and for any reason.

A heavy knock on her door startled Verity so badly that she jolted and disturbed her maid in dressing her hair. A very soft swear escaped the girl's lips, and she graciously pretended not to hear it.

"Go and get the door," she told the maid. "Make some excuse or another. We need a few more minutes to finish here."

While the maid was busy at the door, Verity took a few deep breaths, and then a few more, trying to steady her nerves. Startling so easily simply won't do. If she was going to make a success of this endeavor, she could only manage it if she had nerves of steel. Perfect poise was the order of the day. She told herself that she had managed a great deal worse, and that she knew almost everyone who would be sitting at the table. She told herself that if Lady Valentine had warmed to her, then her Revaire peers would no doubt feel likewise by the end of the evening. She even reminded herself that she could expect at least one friendly face to be sitting beside her tonight.

By the time Jarrod stomped into the room, red-faced and scowling, she had just about got her composure together.

She smiled at him sweetly and said, "Good evening, Your Highness."

"What's the delay?" he demanded, arms crossed over his chest.

Despite his superior height and the fearsome scowl he had worn for the occasion, he reminded Verity in that moment of nothing so much as a spoilt child throwing a tantrum.

"Lucy was just going to finish with my hair," said Verity, looking to the maid who still hovered in the doorway, out of Jarrod's line of sight. "Weren't you, Lucy?"

The girl in question nodded mutely and darted back to the vanity table, picking up the combs that she had earlier set down.

"Please," said Verity, gesturing at the chair beside hers, "have a seat. I won't be but a moment, I promise."

Mildly mollified by her saccharine manners, Jarrod sprawled into the empty seat, giving her a long, unabashedly critical up-and-down look. "What on Earth are you wearing?" he demanded to know in an aggrieved tone.

"A dress," answered Verity.

"Yes," said Jarrod irritably. "I can see that. What do you call that color? It's awful."

"Fawn," said Verity. "It suits my complexion."

"Who told you that a princess can wear a brown dress to a state dinner?" asked Jarrod.

"Your sister," said Verity. "In fact, she insisted on it. And it's not brown, it's fawn."

He muttered something about Gisette trying to embarrass him in public, but she couldn't catch all of it. As she'd hastily promised, Lucy soon had her hair done and pinned up, a few artful curls tumbled around her forehead for effect. She dabbed on an extra touch of powder and declared herself done, with the brightest smile she could muster for the occasion.

Jarrod stood up, dusting himself with great dignity as though the touch of lady's cosmetics had somehow clung to him in the two minutes' interval he had spent in her dressing room. He gave her another up-and-down look and said, "You'll do."

Verity waited a moment, and when no hand was forthcoming, she rose on her own.

"Thank you, Lucy," she said. "You've done a marvelous job. I expect the dinner will run rather late, so you can turn in for the night after you've gotten your supper. Don't worry about tonight. I can undress myself."

"Thank you, Your Highness," said Lucy.

She gathered her skirts in her gloved hands and made her exit, with Jarrod following uncomfortably half a step behind her. Halfway down the corridor that led to the dining room, he finally remembered to offer her his arm. Verity rested her hand on it lightly, and stopped to turn the full force of her smile on him. He turned pink instantly and mumbled something unintelligible.

The welcome supper was a formal event, but too small in attendance to require guests to be announced. Verity had expected to slip into the dining room quietly and take her seat at the table, but when the door opened before them she found that herself and Jarrod were the last to arrive. Whether that was due to her own miscalculation, Lucy's lack of assertiveness in reminding her of the time, or the fumble with the combs, the room was at full capacity when she entered it. The four other delegates, Lady Valentine, and two middle-aged gentlemen she didn't recognize, all turned as one when they heard the door open.

Gisette was sitting at the center of the dining table, with her loyal ladies attending to either side of her. She had dressed with her customary care and was radiant and frosty in an ice-blue gown glittering with gold thread and seed pearls, her hair gleaming like moonlight on steel. Her wide, satisfied cat smile froze when her eyes alighted on Verity and her mouth flattened. Beside her, Roxana scanned her outfit with a speculative look. The two older gentlemen examined her at their leisure and exchanged a pregnant look, before one of them rose to his feet and came to welcome her in person.

"Princess Verity," he said, "allow me to welcome you in person to Revaire."

"You're too kind, I'm sure," said Verity, "but I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

He laughed politely and hastened to correct himself. "My apologies. I am Lord Elver, and my esteemed peer is Baron Tain. We have been sent by His Majesty, King Hyperion to welcome the Crown Prince's bride to our beautiful kingdom."

She curtsied and said everything that was polite and proper, while Lord Elver kissed her hand and Jarrod stood glowering beside her.

Not satisfied with scowling at the whole world, Jarrod stalked across the dining room and, with a curt word, dethroned Lady Roxana from her seat at his sister's elbow. The aggrieved lady put on a simpering smile and assumed a less controversial position on the opposite side of the dining table. When all the dramatic goings on had subsided and dinner was about to be served, Verity found herself seated at the farthest possible corner from the Prince.

On the whole, this was an acceptable arrangement. There was no love lost between her and Jarrod, and no need to pretend otherwise. He was clearly much more satisfied sitting with his sister, even if he looked perpetually, uncivilly bored at Baron Tain's attempts at conversation. Verity saw no need to step up to pacify him. When he learned to behave better, if ever he did, maybe she would consider volunteering herself for his company and conversation. Until such a time, Princess Gisette was clearly more than able to manage her younger brother.

The final seating arrangement unfortunately kept her away from both Tain and Elver, either of which she would have liked to learn something more of. Instead, she found herself caught between Lady Roxana and Lord Clarmont, the two of which were engaged in some kind of subtle battle of wits, fought through excessively refined manners.

"Are you pleased with your seating arrangement, Princess Verity?" asked Roxana sweetly.

"I daresay the Princess would be content no matter who her dinner companions," replied Clarmont, before she could get a chance to make her own answer. "Won't you, Princess? I seem to recall you maintaining remarkable grace under pressure at the summit's suppers."

"And one particularly fraught breakfast," said Verity.

He laughed a pleasant, hollow little laugh. "How could I forget?"

"Arland Princesses are very resilient, Lord Clarmont," said Roxana. "All those etiquette lessons, starting at such a young age."

"I was raised to make the best of the present situation," said Verity modestly, "that's all."

"Oh, is that all?" replied Roxana with a laugh. "I know many a girl who'd have let her face turn sour and her heart cold over much less than that."

"And yet here I am," agreed Verity, "my heart as warm as ever it was."

"Perhaps, Lady Roxana," said Clarmont, "we should toast to our warm-hearted new Crown Princess."

"I don't believe, and let Princess Verity correct me if my protocol falls short, that that is the proper form of address," said Roxana.

"It's true, Lord Clarmont," said Verity. "I shall not be a proper Princess of Revaire until after the wedding. For now I'm just another Arland princess, one among many."

He nodded with a small smile and conceded the point.

The rest of the supper went much the same. Jarrod and Gisette were too distracted to pay her much mind, after the initial spectacle of her dramatic entrance. Lord Elver questioned her briefly and politely, but spent the rest of the evening locked in some deep discussion with Lady Valentine, which was conducted entirely in undertone and under guise of artificial triviality. Roxana teased her now and then, but seemed mostly engaged in paying attention to the quiet currents that ran under the room's many conversations, her pale, watery eyes brightening with interest whenever she caught a particularly intriguing snippet.

Most frustrating of all was Clarmont, who seemed to have reverted entirely to his charming, aloof persona, which Verity remembered well from the last welcome feast they attended together. She had thought they'd forged something like a friendship over their weeks on Vail Isle, and was looking forward to having at least one ally at court. Now his demeanor had her reconsidering all her previous calculations. If she had to face up to Revaire's notoriously serpentine court intrigue with no one but Gisette at her back, she was positively doomed.

All through dinner he spoke nothing but polite nonsense at her, but when the evening drew to a close, he accepted her hand in parting. Verity even thought she saw something of his former warmth in the bright smile he shot her, right before taking his leave. Maybe what friendship she'd thought they had before could still be salvaged, or maybe she was being overly optimistic. By that time, though, Verity was too tired to think the matter through any longer. All she wanted was to slip out of her dress and find out whether the bed in her room was as soft as it looked.

"Sister," said Gisette in her most honeyed voice, as soon as the last of their guests took their leave. "Let me walk you to your room, please. I won't have you losing your way on such a momentous evening."

Verity shot a glance over her shoulder at Jarrod, who was still sprawled in his chair by the dinner table, nursing a glass of something that looked like brandy. The fearsome scowl of before had not left his face. If anything, he looked even more bored and listless. She put on her brightest smile in reply, turning back to the Princess.

"Of course," she said, "you're too kind to offer."

"Nonsense," said Gisette, and hooked Verity's arm with her own. "It's my responsibility as your big sister to take care of you, you know."

She thought she heard a low snort from the corner where Lady Valentine was still sitting, but paid it no mind. As if she couldn't tell herself that Gisette was up to something. But she knew that the only way to find out what that something was would be to let her machinations play out, at least for now.

Gisette led her up the many steps to the royal bed chambers. Once they were safely ensconced in the room with the white swan linens, she turned the full force of her gaze on her, smiling dazzlingly.

"Your maid doesn't seem to be about," she said nonchalantly. "What a lazy, careless girl. One simply can't find decent help anywhere, these days. Here, let me help you loosen your stays. I know how hard they can be to remove on your own."

Verity doubted that Gisette had had any need to dress or undress herself in years, but she smiled and resolved to let the charade play itself out.

"This dress looks remarkably well on you," said Gisette as she turned to unlace the garment in question. "Turn around."

Verity obliged. "My thanks for the compliment," she said. "It puts my mind at ease. Everyone was so silent when I entered the dining room that I thought perhaps my Arland fashions had shocked them beyond words."

Gisette laughed. "How silly you are, Princess Verity," she replied. "They were staring at you because you're beautiful."

"Oh, never!" said Verity earnestly. "I'm sure no one could say that about me when you are standing in the same room, sister."

"You're too kind," she demurred, but Verity could tell that she had chosen well, and that the Princess accepted the compliment as her natural due.

"All the same," said Verity a moment later, as she carefully draped the linen gown over a chair, "I think it's time for me to start dressing in Revaire fashions, and sooner rather than later. But I confess, I would not even know where to start."

"That's why you have me, Verity," said Gisette, laying a warm hand on her shoulder. "We're sisters, now. That's not just idle talk. Your appearance reflects on the entire royal family."

"And on all of Revaire," added Verity.

"Certainly," agreed the Princess. "And so we will begin fittings for your new wardrobe first thing tomorrow morning. Be up bright and early, and be ready to stand very still for many hours."

Verity actually laughed. "No Princess of Arland has ever failed to be ready for that, Your Highness," she said, "I assure you."

Gisette smiled thinly. "Excellent. I will send the measurements ahead to Starfall City so that Amanda can begin putting something together for you, while we idle here. Meanwhile, you'll also need a gown for the engagement party. We have a lot of work to do, Verity. I hope you're prepared. Now turn around."

Verity swallowed a sigh and turned about again so that Gisette could loosen her stays. "I had wondered if after the summit I might be able to sleep in a few mornings," she said softly.

"No such luck, darling," replied Gisette.

"I might have known."

It looked like she was going to have another long week. She was starting to wonder if there was ever going to be an end to them. But then, she couldn't honestly say that she didn't prefer the bustle of activity, however exhausting, to the boredom of idleness. One couldn't achieve great things, after all, without making some sort of sacrifice, even if it was just a few too many sleepless nights. She just thought it might make a novelty to find that out for herself.

The next three days were filled with such intense dress fittings that Verity did not once get a chance to leave the royal villa and see the city proper. She had a sneaky feeling that this was by design. Whenever anything needed to be procured from the marketplace, merchants were brought into the residence's spacious receiving room, where they displayed their wares to Princess Gisette's critical eye, while Baron Tain looked on equally critically. At the same time, the Baron was finalizing the guest list that had been set in advance, handling the seating arrangements, and a thousand and one other tasks that Verity was familiar with from her own turns as hostess.

For this ball, though it was celebrating her own betrothal, she was only nominally a hostess. She didn't recognize even half the names on the guest list, and had no idea of their background, their family grudges, their degree of closeness to the throne. So she stood very still while a half-dozen dressmaker's assistants poked and prodded her, measuring every conceivable length and circumference of her body. And while she stood silently, she silently listened to the goings on around her. Memorizing the lineages would take more than a few days, but already she was gaining a passing familiarity with some important names.

"But who is really able to ride out to Port Indigo on such short notice for an impromptu ball?" she asked Princess Gisette when she was finally able to step down from the dressmaker's pedestal. It was nearing dinnertime, and she was famished.

"Young people, mostly," the Princess answered. "The sons and daughters of the aristocracy, those who have fewer responsibilities, and have not yet set out for their country estates for the summer."

"It'll be lively, then," said Verity, brushing her skirts with great dignity.

"No old farts to get in the way of our fun, except Baron Tain and so on, who will be the official hosts." Smiling curiously, she added, "Lord Adalric's brother will be in attendance."

That gave her pause. "Oh." She struggled to put her thoughts into words. "Isn't that in rather poor taste? It's only been just a month or so, surely."

"Mourning customs are generally deferred," said Gisette, "when royal affairs take precedence."

It occurred to Verity that Revairian ideas about the relationship between monarchs and their direct vassals were quite different from Arlish ones. It also occurred to her that she should have thought of this much sooner.

But all she said out loud was, "I see."

"Excellent," said the Princess crisply. "Now, let's find our way to the dining room. You look as though you might faint at any moment."


	3. The Betrothal Ball

Her role in hosting the engagement ball, limited though it was, still meant that Verity had to be present and perfectly put-together, an hour or more before any guests were likely to arrive. In the silence of the empty ballroom, the silk crepe of her skirts rustled and whispered with her every move. The gown that had eaten up most of her week seemed, at least to be paying off. She wondered whether the seamstresses who had worked on it, who had been putting in corrections until the very last minute to make sure that every stitch was perfect, felt the same.

"Darling, you look simply marvelous," said Roxana to Gisette before turning to regard her with a critical glint in her eye. "And dear Princess Verity is quite transformed. You've performed a miracle."

Verity smiled blandly at the backhanded insult. "Weren't you meaning to arrive fashionably late, Lady Roxana?" she asked sweetly. "So as to make the best possible entrance, I mean."

She did not need to mention overtly that, having failed to make a match at the summit, Lady Roxana was perforce still on the hunt for matrimonial prospects of her own.

Roxana smiled back lazily, looking more pleased than she had any right to be. "I was under strict orders, Princess Verity."

"Yes," said Gisette, "what a good little soldier you are, Roxana."

"I suppose Lady Stefanie will be along shortly," said Verity.

"As soon as she is satisfied that her coiffure will be taller than that of every other lady present," said Roxana. "Let us hope that she forgoes the feathery headdress, this time."

Verity recalled her first encounter with Stefanie's fondness for overly elaborate hairstyle architecture. It was on the morning of her ill-fated horse ride. Judging by Roxana's gleaming, knife-like smile, she knew the circumstances of that morning as well as the late Lord Adalric had done, and had evoked it quite deliberately. Other than being unspeakably gauche, it struck Verity as being needlessly reckless, as well. She glanced sidelong at Gisette, but the Princess seemed unbothered by the specter Roxana had raised.

Verity shrugged one shoulder and said, "I've never cared for Lady Stefanie's fashion sense."

"And will Lord Clarmont be gracing us with him charming presence tonight, do you suppose?" asked Roxana.

"His name was on the guest list," she answered shortly.

"I'm sure," interjected Gisette, "that Lord Clarmont is too wise and too well-mannered to neglect such an important invitation."

"Then we'll have some company worthy of the name, after all," said Roxana, catching Verity's eye and smiling to herself.

Lord Clarmont did not, in fact, deign to arrive just then. Fully half the guests had arrived before his name was announced. Even Jarrod had managed to storm dramatically into the ballroom at least a half-hour earlier, and very nearly on time. Verity was locked in conversation with several curious gentlemen and could not go and greet him in person, but she saw Gisette step forward smoothly to do the same. She would have liked to catch even just a few words of what passed between them, but she was too far away and the ballroom was roiling with a dozen conversations.

She smiled her sweetest smile and fixed her attention on her current conversational partners.

"Oh dear," said one of the gentlemen only a moment later, glancing at the doors to the room and then rapidly averting his gaze. "Don't look."

Verity smiled and said, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I did not mean to upset you, Princess," he apologized, "but it seems Lord Tristan has accepted your gracious invitation after all."

"Lord Tristan Ajah?" asked Verity.

The gentleman nodded grimly. "The recent Viscount of Glassmere."

She could take pride, unfortunately, that her smile wobbled hardly at all. "If you'll excuse me," she said, "I really must greet him in person."

He was, much like most of their esteemed guests, a tall and fair man of a large frame, with a mop of copper-red curls and a neatly-trimmed beard. To Verity's eye he looked to be no older than her, though he must be at least eighteen to have inherited his brother's title. She hadn't known Adalric's age exactly, and it was not polite to ask, even of a gentleman. When he sensed someone moving in his direction, he turned her way and caught her eye. Verity smiled at him, a careful smile, but still, she hoped, welcoming. He nodded acknowledgement and made in her direction.

For a moment while he was approaching her Verity was distracted by Clarmont, who caught her eye briefly and then very deliberately averted his gaze. She faltered for a step, but she could not allow herself to be shaken. Instead she focused her eyes on Lord Tristan, who was even now reaching for her hand.

"I do not believe we have been formally introduced," he said to her, bowing over her outstretched hand.

"Fixing that is quick work," said Verity.

"I was--" he paused and cleared his throat. "I was glad to receive your invitation, Princess Verity. I wish to welcome you personally to Revaire. I hope you find my homeland as beautiful as befits a lady of quality and virtue, such as yourself."

"You're too kind, Lord Tristan," said Verity, "though I might have known you would be."

A cloud passed over his face, but was soon gone, and the perfunctory smile was back. "That's right," he said. "Your Highness has had some traction with my late brother, Adalric, I believe."

"And I found him to be a very gracious man," replied Verity, "and kind. The one virtue is not so rare as the other."

Tristan cleared his throat again. "He was a good man," he said shortly. "Excuse me, I shouldn't take up so much of Your Highness's time."

"Not at all," said Verity. "I hope we can be friends."

"I hope we can," replied Tristan, his fixed smile softening only a little.

"But I see," said Verity with a small sigh, "that our nascent friendship will have to wait. My intended seems to be looking for me, you see, and I had best go and make myself found."

She laughed lightly, and Lord Tristan obliged with an answering smile.

Jarrod was in fact looking for her. When he caught up with her, he first placed his hand on the small of her back, and it was all Verity could do to brace herself in time so that she wouldn't recoil from the sudden touch. With his hand on her back he steered her away from the crowd and towards the refreshments table, which was set with any number of crystal goblets and decanters full of jewel-colored liquors.

Without a word he picked up a crystal glass and was about to drain it when he caught her eyes on him. Sheepishly, he lowered the glass and presented it to her, picking out another for himself to drink.

"Thank you," said Verity. "I didn't realize how thirsty I was getting."

Jarrod mumbled something indistinct.

"It's a perfect time to take refreshments," she agreed gamely with his unspoken statement. "I suppose Baron Tain is only waiting for the last of the guests to arrive before the dancing begins."

The look on his face could only be described as abject horror.

"I'm only a fair dancer, I'll warn you," said Verity with a smile, "so if you mean to dance, you have my blessing to seek out other partners, if you like."

"I wasn't meaning to," mumbled Jarrod.

"All the same," she said. "And I suppose we ought to make a decent showing of it, and take at least the first dance together. If it's not too much trouble."

His face had gone entirely pink, and he said nothing at all.

"Thank you," said Verity again, again to his unspoken agreement, and smiled as brightly as she could.

The first dance went as well as could be expected, and after that Jarrod stalked to the corner of the room and sat glowering and nursing a wineglass, waiting for the ball to end. The young ladies in the room shot him continuous glances, not nearly so circumspect as they thought they were being. When it became clear that he would oblige none of them with an invitation to dance, the subtle glances were redirected towards the new Princess. Verity bore them with all the poise she could muster and a small, serene smile.

She sat with Gisette and her ladies, one or the other of which was usually on the dance floor with one of the gentlemen. Gisette refused all but the highest-ranking askers, and then only accepted if either Roxana or Stefanie could be prevailed upon to stay and sit with Verity.

"You really must accept one of them, sooner or later, Princess Verity," said Roxana the second time this happened, lowering her voice to something of a conspiratorial tone.

"Must I?" pondered Verity aloud.

Stefanie launched into an incredibly irritating giggle, as she was being whisked onto the dance floor by a young man whose name Verity couldn't recall. She suppressed a sigh. It was not even as though she wanted to dance very much, but she'd only had the opportunity to turn down one offer before the well ran dry. She'd even shot a glance in Jarrod's direction, to make sure his typical ill-temper was not being directed at any men who might be looking in her direction. It had taken her no time at all to grasp the tenor of his jealousy. He might not particularly want her himself, but he would still count it a point of pride to keep other men away from her.

At present, though, Jarrod was reasonably well occupied in conversation with Baron Tain, talking with some animation. He wasn't looking in her direction and seemed wholly insensible to the rest of the room and its goings-on. She let her glance slide away from him and over the rest of the room. A quiet instinct told her that if Roxana got the idea that she was wishing her betrothed would invite her to dance, she would tease her mercilessly for it, and possibly spread the gossip all across Revaire.

Roxana was not to be ignored so easily. "You ought to, in my opinion," she said. "First impressions count for a great deal. The young men whom you accept today will forever remember the time they danced with Revaire's future Queen, back when she was a young and lovely Princess."

"You flatter me, Lady Roxana," said Verity. "Had you been the one to ask me to dance, instead, I could have shown you in person that I'm not so graceful a dancer."

"What notions!" said Roxana, but her eyes were shining with mirth. "Ladies dancing with other ladies. Here we have a much finer candidate for your dancing partner. Shall we call him over?"

Verity looked in the direction that Roxana indicated with her chin and the blank smile on her face froze. She felt a pang of something like dread when the object of their combined gaze turned to find them both staring in his direction. Fortunately, her Arland upbringing had trained her for situations exactly like this one, and she had a handkerchief ready to hide her face in.

"Oh, please don't hide your pretty face, Princess," said Roxana, smiling slyly. "Lord Clarmont. We were only just discussing you. Won't you come and rescue our lovely Princess from her solitude? The gentlemen are not obliging to ask her to dance."

"Certainly," said Clarmont and bowed, offering her his hand.

With so direct an offer, there was simply no way she could courteously refuse. Not without claiming illness at least.

"You are too kind, Lord Clarmont," she murmured as he led her onto the floor.

"Not at all, Your Highness," he replied.

Whatever shred of friendship there had been between them before seemed now hopelessly gone. Verity tamped down her disappointed sighs and focused on the act of dancing. Clarmont was as proficient a dancer as she recalled, from their first opportunity at dancing, during the summit. Only a few weeks earlier, she realized with some amazement. How quickly things changed. They danced together for the first time only weeks after she had politely turned down his overtures, and altogether, they had known each other for less than two months.

Why, then, did losing his friendship feel so much like bereavement? It could not be just the loss of an ally, although to find herself friendless in a foreign country was not at all according to plan.

"Something has changed," she said softly, in her distraction.

Despite her best intentions, her mind had wandered from keeping track of the steps. It was a good thing that her dancing partner was able to make up the lack. He led the pair of them through the dance with no seeming effort.

"Many things have changed, Your Highness," he said, a slight stiffness sneaking into his tone.

Verity looked up at him. "You disapprove of me?" she asked. "You seemed to like me well enough until recently."

"I did," he said simply.

Despite the noisy ballroom, the silence between the two of them was so thick that Verity imagined she could hear the silk of her skirts rustling with every step of the dance. Try as she might, she couldn't think of any way to break the taut silence that wouldn't make matters worse. She waited, her thoughts chasing each other in a circle, until the song began to draw to a close. That was when Clarmont dipped his head and leaned in close to her, much closer than would have been proper at an Arlish ball.

"I _do_  like you, Verity," he said, very softly. "I liked you as soon as I met you. I've always thought you were a bright, charming girl, and I believed that you could do great things with your life."

"Clarmont," Verity started to say.

"That's why," he cut into her protestations sharply, "I cannot begin to understand why you would make the decision that you made. To tie yourself to such a-- You, of all people! Knowing what you know. How could you?"

All her protestations withered in her dry mouth.

The song ended, and Clarmont led her, unresisting and still in shock, back to the quiet table where the other ladies sat. He bowed gallantly over her hand, and flattered the sitting ladies with his usual effortless charm. Then he faded into the crowd without another word. Verity busied herself with her rustling skirts, gathering them just so, so that she could sit without getting her gown creased unbecomingly.

"How was your dance, Princess?" asked Roxana sweetly.

"Lord Clarmont is a very proficient dancer," replied Verity automatically.

"Is he?" said Roxana. "I have never had the pleasure. I see it was an excellent idea of mine. I'm so glad you enjoyed yourself."

"It was," said Verity, shaking herself enough to produce a pleasant, polite smile. "Thank you ever so much for keeping my comfort in your thoughts, Lady Roxana."

"The honor is all mine, Princess, I assure you," said Roxana.

Verity wondered briefly how much Lady Roxana truly knew, or thought she knew, about what had passed between herself and Lord Clarmont. But no, that was foolish paranoia, and vanity besides. She doubted anyone spent quite so much time analyzing her friendships with the various summit delegates as she herself did. And if the rumors already circulating the room were true, then Lord Clarmont intended to ride directly to his estate from Port Indigo, as early as tomorrow. They might well not see each other for months, if not years. The thought gave her another pang of regret, but this one was duller than before. He had made his choices, then, just as she had made hers.


End file.
